


Maintenance

by orphan_account



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-26
Updated: 2015-10-26
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:39:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5078146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And damned if she wasn’t biting her lip, raising her eyes up to look at Shepard. She felt the trembling slow down a little, and her head was no longer filled with smoke. Because Shepard was smiling down at her as she stroked Miranda’s hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maintenance

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what happened here. I fully expected to write Shepard/Liara, and I especially didn't expect to write porn. Best laid plans, and all that. Hope you enjoy anyway!

If the nightmares timed themselves just right, she woke up in the wee, darkest hour just before morning. Her sheets would be wet with sweat, her ears ringing with the sounds of gunshots, and her eyes would burn from the phantom feel of acrid smoke.

And she would shake, and she would hate herself for it.

Miranda Lawson did not shake, and she especially did not shake out of fear.

But of course she did, and of course sometimes she would jolt awake in bed alone, because they weren’t at the point that they spent every night together. And when they _did_ , Miranda would do her best not to let on. No sense in letting her bedmate lose out on sleep just because Miranda was a fool, and sometimes dreamed of scars and Cerberus and _death_.

But sometimes…

Miranda stumbled out of bed, cursing that her legs were so weak she had to grab onto the wall and pull herself to the console. A few commands, and the screen lit up. Miranda typed with awkward fingers.

_May I come see you in the morning? I need…_

She hesitated.

_.. you._

She pressed the button quickly before she had a chance to change her mind, and moved to return to bed, hopefully to fall into another fitful sleep.

But a faint chime rattled herself from her plans, and Miranda smiled ruefully to herself, clucking her tongue as she turned back to the console; she grabbed her robe from the back of her chair and threw it over her naked frame.

_Come now._

Of course that would be the response.

She didn’t bother to put on shoes, not really minding the cold feel of the floor in the ship’s corridors as she took the walk down the hall. Besides, she’d just end up taking them off anyway. Still, she drew the robe tighter as she stopped in front of the door. It slid open easily, as if knowing she was expected.

“You should be sleeping,” she said by way of greeting to the person standing in front of the window, looking out at the stars that glided by.

“Shush.”

Shepard’s eyes were nonetheless tired as she turned towards Miranda, but her gaze was soft in a way that made Miranda’s heart clutch. This was still a new feeling, something altogether foreign and not, if she was being honest with herself, especially welcome. But she’d come to realize that genetic engineering wouldn’t actually be successful in preventing it.

But she persisted. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Or if you were already awake, you shouldn’t be working this late. I can go—“

“That ‘shush’ was a direct order, you know.”

The corners of her lips twitched upward into a smile, in spite of her trembling hands.

“Apologies, Commander.”

She was fucking _gorgeous_ in a pair of N7 sweats and a tank top; Shepard’s muscles were a hot topic among some of them on the Normandy, a discussion that no longer made Miranda bristle with jealousy, but allowed her a fleeting, secret smirk. Strands of the commander’s blonde hair fell into her eyes and if it had been any other night, Miranda would be nimbly brushing them away. But she was rooted to her spot just inside the door, which had closed effortlessly behind her and locked with an echoing click.

Shepard took a step forward. “Another nightmare?” she queried, her voice full of concern.

Miranda appreciated the way the other woman didn’t stride over to her, didn’t take the Cerberus agent in her arms. Shepard was always inclined to plow full steam ahead into whatever challenge awaited her, and she’d remarked once that Miranda certainly was that, a challenge. Miranda was always just as inclined to push back, and the best thing about Shepard was that she was quick to learn Miranda’s terms.

So Miranda nodded, and Shepard nodded in return. “Same thing?”

Miranda shrugged. “Nothing I did worked. You died.”

Shepard no longer winced when she heard it; she would always just nod, again.

“Well, I’m glad you came.”

“I needed to see for myself.”

Shepard flashed her a reassuring smile, making a slow 360-degree turn with her arms open. There were no more wounds, no more angry red scars marring what seemed to Miranda to be perfect skin, even though she knew better. Shepard might be a spectre, might be an amazing fighter, the best commander of the Systems Alliance Navy, but she wasn’t perfect.

“Thank you,” Miranda still said with a little chuckle in her voice.

“Anytime. You want to come sleep?”

Miranda hesitated. Shepard might not be perfect, but her bed was, and waking up next to Shepard was an occasion Miranda was never inclined to miss. And Miranda did want to sleep, but… not then, not just yet.

“Jess…”

There was something more in that word, and Miranda was pretty sure Jess Shepard knew it.

“What is it, Miranda? What do you need?”

She hesitated again, but only for a moment. Because Shepard was still looking at her with that same gentleness that Miranda had been lucky enough to discover months ago. There had been other things they’d discovered just a little time ago, when Miranda had awakened from a bad dream and needed more than to just see it for herself.

“Miranda.”

She crossed the floor to Shepard, who already had her arms out. They fell back to Shepard’s sides, though, just as Miranda slipped to her knees at Shepard’s feet, and wrapped unsteady arms around the commander’s legs.

“Oh, whoa, okay,” Shepard said with a bit of surprise. This was still new to Shepard, something altogether foreign and, if she was being honest with herself, something Miranda knew wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

“Okay.”

Miranda rested her head against Shepard’s thigh, feeling the warmth of her skin through the sweatpants. She breathed deep, annoyed when the exhale came out shuddery, but was rewarded with Shepard’s strong hand gently stroking Miranda’s long dark hair.

“Is this what you need, sweetheart?”

It was a tone, and a term of endearment, reserved only for Miranda. All of it spoke of gentleness, of the roles they were slipping into. It also spoke of Shepard’s care for Miranda, something she found so hard to accept even as she found herself wanting it.

“Yes.”

Commander Shepard was alive, it had all been just a dream. Miranda was at her feet, holding her desperately, and Shepard was there, real, in the flesh. Miranda sniffled.

“Yes, what?”

Miranda hung her head a little, feeling her tears wet Shepard’s sweatpants in embarrassed droplets.

“Yes, Commander.”

And damned if she wasn’t biting her lip, raising her eyes up to look at Shepard. She felt the trembling slow down a little, and her head was no longer filled with smoke. Because Shepard was smiling down at her as she stroked Miranda’s hair.

“Good girl,” Shepard said, and Miranda felt a flutter run up her spine.

Shepard had said it to her once, half-jokingly, when Miranda had hastened to obey an order. She’d stopped in her tracks and looked back at Shepard with shock in her eyes, and a warm feeling pooling in her gut. She’d bit her lip then, too. Later they’d talked about it, and something new yet again commenced.

“Knees hurting yet?” Shepard said.

Miranda grumbled, because Shepard’s hand was in her hair, kneading her head in an absolutely lovely massage. Admitting her knees were starting to hurt would mean the loss of that contact. Miranda grumbled again, before answering.

“Yes, Commander.”

“Then up you go,” Shepard ordered softly, but her hands were already under Miranda’s arms, lightly tugging to help her to her feet. And Miranda was helpless to do anything else but let out an undignified squeak as she was lifted up, one arm around her waist and the other tucked under Miranda’s knees like she was a baby. Still, Miranda rested her head on Shepard’s shoulder, smiling when a light kiss was dropped to her forehead.

Shepard carried Miranda over to the bed and sat on the edge, settling Miranda onto her lap. “Stretch out your legs,” she said, and Miranda did so, draping them over the bed. She found herself then tucked against Shepard’s chest, under her chin, with arms held tightly around her.

Miranda tensed.

“You’ve been so brave, Miranda. And I’m glad you let me know you needed me. You’re such a good girl.”

It was strange, how something as simple as that made the sniffles begin all over again. The tears streaked down Miranda’s cheeks, and she felt Shepard loosen her hold, probably out of a bit of alarm. But Miranda shook her head, snaking her arms around Shepard’s neck and burying her wet face in the commander’s shoulder.

“Okay,” she heard Shepard whisper once more, as the commander oriented herself to the direction this had taken.  Her hand was in Miranda’s hair again, stroking the dark locks, while her other hand was rubbing gentle circles over her back.

“I’m sorry,” Miranda hiccupped through her tears, something she hadn’t ever said, before Shepard.

“I tried to take care of you, but then I sent you out before you were fully healed. And then… in the dream you died and I never got to see you again. “

“I know,” Shepard soothed her. She cupped Miranda’s face in her hands, kissing her tenderly.

The first time they’d kissed it had been rough, the product of too much wine and too much sexual tension. The whole thing had been rough, with both Miranda and Jess Shepard taking their fill, as many times as needed, before collapsing into a sweaty heap on Miranda’s bed and falling asleep.

And then Miranda had cracked open her eyes at first light, to find Shepard sat up, looking down at her. Normally that would’ve made her wish for a blaster, but then Shepard had said “Good morning,” and kissed her with a softness that Miranda had never known she craved. And ever since, Shepard seemed to know when Miranda needed not the raw passion of two women in love, but the gentleness of Shepard tuned into her emotions.

As if on cue, Shepard settled Miranda back against her shoulder. “Such a good girl,” she murmured encouragingly in Miranda’s ear. “Such a brave, smart girl. I’m so proud of you, Miranda.”

She could feel her face flush a deep pink, even as she pulled back and protested. “I’m an experiment, Shepard, nothing to be proud of.”

“Oh,” Shepard said, her own face hardening in disapproval, and Miranda swallowed. “I guess you’re not my second in command, the executive officer of this ship. I suppose I can’t count on you to lead a team on a mission and bring _all_ of them back safely. I guess you’re not one of the people on this ship that I trust with my life.”

Knowing it wasn’t necessarily the same as believing it, no matter how many times Shepard had said it to her. She couldn’t deny herself that bit of self-doubt. “I don’t see how. You trust me with your life, I had your life in my hands and I nearly destroyed you.”

“How about you let me figure out that mystery of the universe,” Shepard suggested with a lilt to her voice, “and you just relax and let me take care of you?”

“I don’t think relaxing was part of my creation,” Miranda said wryly, but grinned when she lifted her head and caught Shepard’s eye roll.

“Stand up,” the commander ordered quietly, and Miranda practically sprang to her feet. Once stood, she felt awkward. That, too, was another strange feeling, because Miranda Lawson was never awkward when she was stood in front of anyone else. Her own body was another topic around the Normandy, mostly her ass and the way her hips jutted out when she stood even in casual conversation. She’d seen Joker’s hands twitch once when she’d sashayed by; Kelly’s too.

But this, being stood in front of Commander Shepard as Jess’s eyes roved over her, this made Miranda flush red-hot and glance down at her feet.

Shepard hooked two fingers around one end of the belt at Miranda’s waist, and tugged. The robe fell open, and Miranda grinned again at the completely-not-subtle hitch of Shepard’s breath. On rare occasions Miranda would actually wear something to bed; but mostly, she was naked. She liked the feel of the sheets against her skin, or, other times, the feel of skin against hers.

“Like what you see, Commander?”

“Oh, I do,” Shepard said, “Oh, I do.”

Miranda’s skin raised to taut goosebumps as Shepard trailed her fingers over, warmth enfolding Miranda’s shoulders then moving down her chest. The Cerberus agent took a deep breath as Shepard’s palms found her breasts, but they only held, not teasing or enticing.

“Relax,” Shepard murmured, and Miranda nodded, taking another breath.

Shepard’s hands moved downward to her stomach, then further, brushing over the light patch of trimmed hair at Miranda’s center. She whined when slender, capable fingers stopped just short of where Miranda wanted her, and Shepard chuckled.

“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Miranda muttered, then squeaked again when Shepard’s hands snaked around and cupped her ass.

“I always enjoy what’s mine, sweetheart.”

“Well… feel free to do so.”

Shepard’s hand was lightly stroking Miranda’s bottom, and Miranda was surprised to see not desire on her face, but thoughtfulness.

“You haven’t had maintenance in a while, have you?”

Miranda didn’t think it was part of her creation to beam and grimace at the same time, either, but she did.

“It’s been about three weeks, Commander.”

Shepard hummed in agreement, a brief faraway look in her eyes before she patted the bed and stood up herself.

“You’re past due then,” she affirmed. “I’m sorry about that, I should have taken care of you sooner.”

Miranda ignored her own terms and hugged Shepard to her fiercely, kissing her to try to drive the commander’s own guilt and self-doubt away.

“ _We’re_ taking care of each other now.”

 Shepard smiled. She helped Miranda peel off the robe, and cast it over the back of a chair. “Up on the bed, facing the wall. On all fours, Miranda.”

She climbed onto the bed like a cat, sly and calculating. She knew what the sight of her like this would do to Shepard, and Miranda wiggled her ass for good measure, smirking when she heard Shepard’s snort.

“Tease.”

“I have a feeling I won’t be the only one.”

There was a metal ring secured into the wall slightly above the bed. Miranda stared at it as she listened to Shepard shuffle around the room behind her. Then a couple of pillows were piled in front of her, and Shepard’s hand was at the small of Miranda’s back, pushing until her second in command lowered herself onto her forearms against the pillows, her ass exposed high in the air.

“You are gorgeous,” Shepard said, sounding a little in awe. The bed dipped behind Miranda and she gasped at the knowledge that at some point in the last few minutes, Shepard had shed her own clothes, and they were skin to skin as Shepard draped herself over Miranda and caged her in.

“My sweetheart,” Shepard murmured, kissing her way down Miranda’s back, and up again to the nape of her neck. She brushed Miranda’s hair over one shoulder, nuzzling briefly into her skin.

“I’ve missed this,” Miranda allowed herself to admit, and she was rewarded by the light squeeze of Shepard’s arms around her toned stomach.

“I know, me too. I shouldn’t wait this long.”

She was Miranda Lawson. She was an agent of Cerberus, one of the highest-ranking officers on the Normandy. Her body could make both women and men speechless, and she relished in the chance to do so. But nothing melted her so much as two small words uttered by her commander.

“Good girl,” Shepard whispered one more time, before she pulled away from her lover. Miranda felt chilled at the loss of contact, even in spite of the heat pooling low in her belly. She stayed in her position, her long black hair making a curtain to hide her face. Jess loved to see her like this, bared and open for her, and Miranda had never been unhappy to oblige.

“Hands together, sweetheart.”

She linked her fingers, unable to stop herself from laughing when Shepard appeared again at her head, wrapping her wrists in the tie to her robe, and beginning to fasten them through the ring on the wall.

“You’re very resourceful, Commander,” she remarked, testing the bonds. Miranda knew she could pull herself away easily, unlike the ties Shepard usually employed. But, well, that would mean _wanting_ to.

“I like having fun with ordinary things.”

“And am I ordinary?”

“Never,” Shepard declared, and Miranda smiled when she sat down on the bed next to the woman that was on display for her.

In Shepard’s hands now was a strip of black fabric, and Miranda’s eyes widened a little.

“Do you remember your word?”

“Yes, I do, Commander,” she replied dutifully, as if she could ever forget it. “’Lazarus.’”

“Mmhm.” With that, Shepard vanished from Miranda’s sight, her soothing face replaced by the darkness of the blindfold. Miranda flexed her fingers, momentarily rattled.

“Relax, sweetheart,” Shepard said, stroking Miranda’s hair again. “You know you can say it, anytime you—“

“Anytime I want to stop,” Miranda finished, and she nodded. “I know, Commander.”

“Good girl.” Shepard stayed with her for a few minutes, allowing Miranda to adjust to having one of her senses taken away. Then she moved again, and Miranda rested her head against her forearms with a smile when she felt one hand on her back, and the other rubbing soft, smooth circles over her ass.

She gasped at the first strike, even though it was barely more than a tap, and she heard Shepard chuckle when Miranda still arched herself for more.

“I know this is a spanking,” Shepard said, her voice sounding far away. “But I don’t want it to hurt, sweetheart.”

“Well,” Miranda said, rocking upward when Shepard smacked her again, still gentle. “You can make it hurt a little, Commander.” She smirked when the next slap left a sting on the skin of her left thigh.

She didn’t mind if it hurt. It wasn’t a usual part of their lovemaking, but in their rules together Shepard had decided that every so often – sometimes once a week – Miranda needed a little “maintenance,” a sharp reminder of what they were doing, and who was in charge. Her girlfriend had been reluctant to assert herself at first, since from the beginning she’d told Miranda she didn’t want to control her. But then they’d both realized how much they enjoyed it. And Miranda had been surprised at just how much she needed it.  She knew she was stubborn, willful. She concentrated too much on missions and not enough on herself.

Though she didn’t mind the pain she didn’t necessarily care for crying over Shepard’s knee, but Miranda had been amazed at the sense of relief after. And at how closely Shepard would hold her, with words she’d say into her ear, for her only.

Miranda Lawson was perfect and she’d let everyone know it. But damn if she didn’t love being Jess Shepard’s “good girl.”

She was beginning to feel the slight burn of Shepard’s hand making a steady pattern on her ass, and in her arms as Miranda held herself up. She could feel the pricking of tears behind her eyelids and she sniffled. Shepard’s hand didn’t slow its pace. Instead, it did something new.

Miranda’s eyes shot open behind the blindfold as Shepard spanked her, then suddenly her hand slipped between Miranda’s legs in one long, enticing stroke.

“Well, would you look at that,” Shepard said, and Miranda huffed, hearing the triumph in the commander’s voice.

“Someone is wet and ready…”

“Only for you,” Miranda grunted, trying to rock her hips against Shepard’s hand, only to yelp when a particularly hard smack landed where ass met thigh.

“Ah-ah. Relax, Miranda. I’ll take care of you.”

She forced the tension out of her body, again resting her forehead on her arms.

“Good girl,” Shepard cooed, and Miranda felt the last vestiges of control leave her as two fingers found her clit, a barely-there touch that set her on fire.

“You’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

“Always, Commander…”

“Except when you’re naughty.”

A finger slipped inside her as the others teased, and Miranda groaned. “You like it when I’m naughty. There are a lot of benefits for you.”

“Can’t disagree with that.”

She felt her own wetness when Shepard withdrew her fingers and started spanking her again, and Miranda would be helpless to explain why that idea made shivers run down her spine, made her toes curl and made her clench her hands tighter. She ached to touch, to feel, but she knew that tonight wouldn’t be that night.

Shepard worked a staccato of smacking and teasing, punctuating each slap with a brush of fingers against Miranda’s heat, and soon the Cerberus officer was making the most _vulgar_ noises, and she didn’t give a single damn. Shepard liked to hear it, hell, Miranda liked making them. Her ass stung and the muscles inside her were stretched too tight, too thin, waiting for the moment when she could _snap_ , with a scream and Shepard’s name on her lips.

If Shepard would let her.

As quickly as it began, it stopped. And Shepard was gone. No more smacks, no more eager fingers, just nothing. Miranda’s hands tied in front of her, and her vision obscured into deep black. She hated herself for it, but she found herself panicking.

“Shepard?!”

“Here,” came the answer, low and kind, and a warm, strong hand closed around the back of her neck. “I haven’t left you, Miranda. Just wanted to hear you call for me.”

“You know I hate it when you do that,” Miranda growled, frustrated from the little game that Shepard would sometimes play with her, and the ache of her own need.

“And you know why I do it.”

An idle hand played with her breast; Miranda only allowed herself a nod in acquiescence. It was why Miranda had sent that message, why she would always seek out Shepard above anyone else, after a nightmare or otherwise. If anyone knew how much Miranda Lawson needed Jess Shepard, beyond Miranda herself, it was the Commander.

“Miranda?”

“Hmm?”

“ _Miranda_.”

“Sorry Commander, yes, Commander?”

She could feel that Shepard was propped up on one elbow, and Miranda knew her commander was looking down at her. Taking in the strong arms, large breasts topped with stiff nipples. She knew Shepard loved the way the muscles in Miranda’s stomach rippled, loved to run her fingers through the small patch of curls at her center.

“You are absolutely beautiful.” She felt Shepard’s lips on hers, and Miranda defied the rules to tilt herself up into the kiss.

Shepard never told her she was perfect. Somehow she always seemed to know that would be the last thing Miranda would want to hear.

“Thank you, Commander…”

“Open yourself up for me, sweetheart.”

She parted her knees eagerly, moving further up onto the bed and spreading herself as much as she could. She felt the cool air rush onto her slick thighs before Miranda threw her head back with a gasp, her arms quivering when she felt Shepard’s mouth on her.

“Goddamn,” she swore, trying desperately not to grind down onto the Commander’s tongue.

“Language,” Shepard broke off long enough to laugh. Miranda knew Shepard loved to hear her talk like that.

Her girlfriend licked her way along Miranda’s sex, pausing to nibble lightly at her clit, her fingers digging into Miranda’s skin as her fingers held open her center.

“Does this feel good, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes,” Miranda panted. “I want more…”

“Oh, I bet you do.”

Suddenly she was flipped over, her arms crossed over her head as Miranda was settled onto her back. Then Shepard’s lean body was covering hers again, Jess sucking a sensitive nipple into her mouth as her fingers pinched the other. Miranda was wet everywhere, from the sweat sticking her hair to her forehead, to the trail of saliva Shepard left on her chest, to the wetness below no doubt making a mess of the Shepard’s fine, silky sheets.

Her legs were pushed up until she realized they were draped over Shepard’s shoulders, and the commander tilted her face to press a chaste kiss against the inside of her thigh.

“Are you going to come before I tell you to?”

Miranda groaned, but answered anyway. “No, Commander.”

“That’s my good girl.”

Shepard was determined to make that a nearly impossible promise, though, because her lips and tongue attacked Miranda with abandon, the sound of her desire filling the Cerberus agent’s ears. She’d never really been _embarrassed_ by sex, you couldn’t really be, not with a body like hers. But there was something about her encounters with Shepard that made her blush, made her a little self-conscious about being wet, about moaning, and damned if Shepard didn’t know it. Because each time they were together, Miranda was a little bit wetter, a little bit louder, and she was pretty sure Jess reveled in it.

Shepard’s mouth closed around her clit and Miranda’s muscles stretched with the sensation of three fingers slipped inside. Her commander fucked her with calculated resolve, curling her fingers just _so_ , and Miranda saw stars. Her hips were bucking up to meet every stroke, her mouth was open wider with each moan, and then… the fingers were gone. Shepard was kissing up her thigh, along the line of her stomach, and Miranda grumbled.

“I told you to relax, Miranda.”

“I am perfectly relaxed, Commander,” Miranda bit out, struggling to keep her frustration under control. “Except for the fact that I really, desperately want to come right now.”

“Desperately, huh?”

Miranda rattled the hook above the bed to prove her point. She could pull it out so easily, free her hands and hold Shepard where she wanted her. But… she wanted _this_.

“Desperately, Commander.”

“Well, who am I to deny a desperate woman?”

Miranda cried out when Shepard’s tongue buried itself inside her two fingers again working on her clit. She was so sensitive, almost too much, her ass tingling against the sheets and her skin stiff under the commander’s ministrations. It didn’t take long before she was begging.

“Commander… commander, please, I’m not- I can’t- I won’t be able to wait—“

“Then don’t. Now, sweetheart.”

Shepard was on top of her again, three fingers inside and her thumb rubbing circles against the bundle of nerves at Miranda’s center. She felt her body clench, shut her eyes tight against the onslaught that threatened to overwhelm her. Shepard kissed her as Miranda came hard, whispering the words.

“You feel so good, you’re so amazing, that’s it, come for me, Miranda, that’s it, good girl…”

They kissed almost lazily as Miranda began to settle, Shepard still fucking her, lightly and slow. The second orgasm was gentle, an almost flutter of her muscles against the commander’s hand; Miranda let out a happy sigh as she turned to jelly on the bed and she felt Shepard smile against her cheek.

“Thank you,” Miranda breathed, and Shepard kissed her again. “I don’t know how you knew, but I needed that. All of it.”

“Happy to oblige,” Shepard said, and Miranda smiled.

“Will you untie me?”

She blinked into the dim light when the blindfold was taken from her eyes, and Miranda gaped at Shepard. It never ceased to surprise her, just how beautiful the commander was. She spent all of her time hiding her body under sweatshirts and cargo pants; Miranda considered it a rare gift that she was the only one allowed to see the small breasts, the full hips that were now… straddling one of Miranda’s legs.

Oh. _Oh._

She smirked, and tugged at the bonds holding her wrists above her head, still. “Did you forget something?”

“Nope,” Shepard said, returning the smirk. She moved slowly over Miranda, and Miranda licked her lips, feeling the wetness beginning to slick her thigh.

“If you can’t get me off without using your hands, then maybe you don’t deserve the privilege.”

It was the best, purest sound in the world when Shepard gasped as Miranda sharply brought up her knee, toppling the commander onto her so that they were nose to nose.

“I assure you, I’ll work very hard for that privilege, Commander.”

“You better,” Shepard murmured, her eyes closed as she ground down onto Miranda’s thigh. “’cause if you don’t I’m thinking maybe I’ll spank you every day for a week.”

“I’m not seeing the downside in that,” Miranda remarked, and Shepard snorted. Miranda kissed the tip of her nose with an uncharacteristic tenderness, for the heat of the moment.

“Please let me feel you come, Commander.”

Shepard groaned, her movements harder as she braced herself with an arm on either side of Miranda’s head. It didn’t take long for her to become reckless, almost sloppy, and Miranda kissed and licked her neck as Shepard came undone on her skin.

“Did that satisfy?” Miranda murmured, nestling her cheek next to Shepard’s.

In response, the commander reached up and untied her lover’s hands in one swift movement, slumped over Miranda even as one hand searched for Miranda’s wrists and kneaded them carefully. It made Miranda smile and pull her close after Shepard was done; her hands stroked softly up and down the commander’s bare back.

“I love you,” Miranda said.

She hadn’t been the first to say it. In fact, that first time she hadn’t even said it in return, something she knew had actually hurt Shepard deeply. But too many long, sleepless nights after, Miranda had showed up at her cabin, just like this, and the words had left her lips before she’d even stepped inside. Shepard had understood the uncertainty coupled with the cockiness, and now Miranda felt that there was no one else she’d rather have at her side to navigate this galaxy of her emotions, than Shepard.

“I love you too.” Shepard’s legs were still draped over hers, a delicious tangle, and Miranda closed her eyes.

“Don’t go to sleep just yet,” Shepard warned, and Miranda opened them again. “We have to get up and go to your cabin.”

Miranda quirked an eyebrow. “Why would we do that? It’s comfortable here.”

“Because my sheets are a _mess_ ,” Shepard pointed out, and Miranda laughed, shaking her head.

She pulled herself up out of the bed, reluctantly, running one finger down Shepard’s arm before turning to pull her robe tie out of the ring, and slip on her robe. She brought Shepard’s sweats and tank to the bed, reaching down to help lift her to her feet. Shepard brought Miranda into her arms and kissed her again, long and slow and soft.

“I was thinking…” she trailed off.

“Yes, Commander?” She slipped the tank top over her lover’s head, then knelt, lifting one ankle and then another, pulling the sweatpants around Shepard’s waist.

“I was thinking that after tonight, you ought to sleep in my cabin… from now on.”

Miranda stood up, staring at Shepard in shock. “Wait, really?”

Shepard’s lower lip was tucked between her teeth. “I mean unless you don’t want to, ‘cause that’s—“

“No, no, no, no,” Miranda practically babbled in her haste to reassure her girlfriend. “I _want_ to. That feels… good. That feels… official. But, Commander, I might… well, there may be some more nightmares.”

Shepard shook her head and trailed her hand over Miranda’s cheek. “You’re not the only one who has nightmares, sweetheart.”

The realization hit her like cold water. “That’s why you were still awake.”

Shepard’s smile was rueful, and Miranda hugged her tightly. “I’m sorry, I should have—“

“No.” Shepard shushed her with a finger to her lips. “We’re taking care of each other, remember?”

Miranda nodded, then lifted Shepard into her arms as Shepard had lifted her earlier. Shepard didn’t say anything, just wrapped her arms around Miranda’s neck. Miranda didn’t care if anyone saw as she made her way out of Shepard’s cabin and back down the hall to her own. She laid Shepard against the pillows onto the bed before climbing in beside her and pulling the sheets around them both.

There’d be no more nightmares, she decided, resting her head against Shepard’s shoulder and hearing the words once again just as she closed her eyes.

“Good girl.”

No more nightmares, for either of them. Not tonight, anyway.

 


End file.
